


Anchor

by Silversheath



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Character Study, F/F, Missing Scene, Pre-Relationship, Spoilers, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-26
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 10:43:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,108
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/899379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silversheath/pseuds/Silversheath
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>If wishes were horses, beggars would ride.</p>
<p>(Or; Christa wonders why the world seems to run on secrets, then remembers her own.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Anchor

Given three wishes, Christa might only use two.

One: to stop the titans, of course. The failure of humanity should be stopped through any means possible - since magic doesn't exist, Christa is resigned to doing it herself.  
If there were some easy way out, a second chance, a way to make the rusty bloodstains and the endless sobbing and the nightmares of cracking bones and that trapped animal feeling to go away, she'd do it in a heartbeat. She'd trade anything to make it all stop.

That's what she'd want.

The second wish would be for people to find peace.

After Trost, it feels like the other former-104 trainees are in slow motion, trudging broken through the day like the air has solidified. As if the wind battering their faces when flying with 3DMG is no longer liberating - it feels like fleeing.

Christa sees the survivors - and it's horrible to realize that that's their legacy (we survived. We did it. They didn't) - and they gaze into the sky during any space of silence and mumble in conversations and if she looked in their eyes, Christa would see severed limbs drenched maroon-rust-bloody and grotesque stretched limbs attached to gargantuan hungry heads.

She swallows, hard.

Her boots crunch dusty bits of gravel underheel, and she clutches her hands to her chest, feeling the flutter of her heart. The world is silent as she makes her way to the barrack.

The third wish. What else could she want?

She passes Armin and Mikasa, whispering in hushed, tight tones. They glance at her as she goes by; there's some polite nodding and they move off. Secrets.

It reminds her that the trio is missing Eren and his single-minded rage. He would benefit from her second wish. Christa wonders what he would be like without that vicious drive - happy and hale, or empty, a fire with no vent? Maybe the smoke would suffocate him.

Christa's thoughts go in circles. She can’t think of anything that isn’t horribly selfish.

When she gets to the barrack, the only one inside is Ymir. She's awake and laying on her back, tossing her pillow up in the air and trying to catch it with skewed depth perception. Christa feels her lip quirk slightly when the plush square lands barely out of arm's reach, even for Ymir. Christa walks in and picks it up, ignoring Ymir's questing grazes of the surrounding area for her pillow, and squeezes the softness before she hands it back, hoping the sense of it will anchor her to earth.

It doesn't.

"Where's Sasha?" she asks as she lowers herself to her pallet beside Ymir gingerly, avoiding the bruises her 3DMG leaves, full body.

"What?" Ymir snorts, rolls over brusquely so her back is to Christa. She is forced to look at Ymir's wiry shoulders and neck. "Who cares? Probably panting at the mess hall windows." Her voice softens. "Why?"

"Don't be mean about Sasha," Christa reprimands by habit, and Ymir grunts in acknowledgment, but makes no promises. "No reason. I'm just tired," Christa answers the second question, and it seems bitter to her, like her words are falling sour from her lips. Like that's even possible. She wants to shake her head like a dog and let the knotty fear slide off like water.

She might benefit from the second wish.

Christa closes her eyes and wonders what she would do if she were still Historia. Historia would wish for her family to love her, first. She wouldn't even look at Trost, but if she were forced, she'd cry for days. Christa can't afford to do so. It feels like another freedom drifting through her fingers. Another thing the titans have consumed. Of course, maybe it wasn't just the titans who killed her innocence. Three years is a lot of time, to change, to solidify a self. And she's only fifteen. Of course, she might die. Soon.

She looks at the tangled mat that is Ymir's hair. The older girl generally has no inclination to tidy up before dinner, probably figuring the whole endeavor as a waste of time when "you just get dirty again right away anyway." Ymir's pretty negative. She's also blunt and rude; she makes flirty comments and is a little strange, especially with her secret and her knowledge about Historia. But she stayed with Christa. She complains and insults in heaping measures, but she cares. Definitely. She's fast and smart and even though she says she's there for herself, Christa thinks Ymir is coming to enjoy being a soldier.

Christa tucks her hair behind her ear as she shifts on her pallet. Would Ymir benefit from the second wish?

"Ymir," she asks hesitantly. She's rewarded with the slitted amber gaze of the older trainee as Ymir rolls her upper body at the hips toward Christa's pallet and raises an eyebrow. "What would you wish for if you could have anything?"

Ymir's eyes widen and she pauses, noticeably enough for Christa to open her mouth with the next inquiry on her lips, when the door opens softly and Mikasa walks in, trailed by Sasha. They head straight to Mikasa's storage locker and she rummages through delicately. The already-usually-stoic girl looks positively grim, pretty face shadowed with a sort of dark rage. Christa thinks it's because Eren was taken. Something strange.

Sasha is not as bubbly as she was pre-Trost, but she's clearly trying hard to cheer up Mikasa. She chatters vapidly about the different qualities finely prepared stew can have, obviously dependent on the meat available. Sasha's not dumb, Christa knows that. Sometimes, simplicity is the best cheer one can try.

Ymir turns up her nose at the pair and drags the covers over her head. The blankets aren't that long, and her toes along with several inches of ankle are exposed. Christa stifles a laugh at the picture, and aims a gentle kick at the largest toe. Ymir flinches and raises her head. Christa recognizes her playful scowl. The call for dinner goes off.

"Bye, goddess," Sasha says to Christa (only half jokingly) as she leads Mikasa out at a swift pace. The top ranked trainee looks soothed not at all by the country girl's culinary-themed litany, but she waits gamely for Sasha to wave and they leave together anyway. Ymir rises the moment they've gone, running her fingers through her hair.

"Let's go, then," she says quickly, and directs Christa to rise. Christa shrugs, and lets Ymir have her secrets. I’d give her my third wish. She smiles at the tall girl, moves forward, and twines their fingers together, wondering if this feeling will anchor her.

It does.


End file.
